


Maybe 250 Years is a Long Time (but 300 is longer)

by notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Ymir's Children [2]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: BlackIce, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jökul shows up at the workshop, looking for Jack, he paid a visit to a certain languishing villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe 250 Years is a Long Time (but 300 is longer)

Near to present

A chill hush entered the lair. The Nightmares fell silent, with no foreign sound to indicate the cause. The silence was startling in its suddenness, but almost familiar... Someone was coming. Perhaps they were already here. Perhaps they were already within reach. Perhaps they stood beside him, hand reaching out, about to touch him. Pitch Black shuddered as a frozen touch skittered across his sweating face, leaving behind a thin trail of ice that slowly melted away. "I kent I might find you here." The voice was soft, distantly familiar (too familiar, Pitch didn't want to hear it). Like the cold (the touch was that of fingers, flesh stiffened with flaking ice, roughened by hard work and calloused), but somehow... It felt like something Pitch had forgotten. The icy fingers returned, and that too was familiar, soothing the bruising on his jaw with their cold. "Ah, Pitch," the owner of that voice sighed. "Whatever should I do with you?" 

The voice was a little like that of Jack Frost (who had irked him merely by being familiar, but there was more to Pitch's dislike), but it was deeper, and at the same time softer, the accent strange, the like of which Pitch hadn't heard in quite some time. It was archaic, from more than just the usage of words like 'kent'. When Pitch finally gave in to the urge to open his eyes, the pair he met looked exactly like those of Jack Frost - eyes such a beautiful shade of blue with striations of white in the irises, making them look like deep water layered with rime. Yet, the rest of the face was wrong (by being right, more right than Jack's young countenance could hope to be). It was older. There were lines around the eyes and the thin, faintly smiling mouth, of a kind that only comes with age. Some of the lines were marks of laughter, others told of long ago sorrow, yet, overall, the face didn't look truly old. The face was that of a young man, slightly weathered, but still young (or perhaps not young - more like ageless). The eyes, although just the same as Jack Frost's eyes to the very last fleck of white, told a different story. They were old. Very old. Not as old as Pitch, perhaps, but ancient nonetheless. 

Suddenly, the familiarity that had been gnawing at him coalesced. He _knew_ who this was. The only explanation for not recognizing him right away had to be his fever. "Jökul. What are you doing here?" As Pitch Black thought of the centuries since he had last seen Jökul Frosti, the winter spirit smiled, pressing the broad palm of his hand across Pitch's fevered brow. It felt so nice that he almost forgot that he had asked a question. Why was Jökul here now? He had already given up on seeing him again! 

"Checking in on you," admitted Jökul. "After all, you managed quite a number on yourself this time." The hand began to drag away, and somehow Pitch managed to catch the other spirit's fingers in his own. Jökul smiled broader. "This world of ours lacks balance enough. Fear is an important part of life, and well do you ken it. If only you weren't so dramatic with the self-acclamation, there would be others that would ken it as well. Poor idiot." Although he was still smiling, a strange, gentle sort of smile, he sounded anything but amused. His tone sounded remarkably like pity, and it made Pitch want to cringe away from him. It also sounded like before, when they had been close, and if anything, that was worse than pity. 

"What do you want from me?" he asked, releasing Jökul's hand so he could turn away. Unexpectedly, when he let go, Jökul didn't, making turning away difficult. 

The winter spirit leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Pitch's temple. "What do I want? A sense of self preservation would be plenty enough." His hand moved to caress the length of Pitch's jaw. "I suspect I may have left you alone a little overlong, but what is done is done, and life, such as it is, must take its course." 

Alone, a little overlong? Jökul was out of his mind if he called the past two hundred and fifty years "a little overlong". And the three before that! It had been much too long since Pitch had had _anyone_ to talk to. Far too long. If he wasn't so tired, he would give Jökul such a piece of his mind..! As it was, he felt that he could only complain. "The last time we talked..." 

"You were being silly, if you ask me," said Jökul. "Disrespectful, even. I may have kent that if you were approaching with such a petty problem that you must merely be bored. I hadn't considered that it may have been a cry for help." The smile, moments ago so gentle, quirked with waspish amusement. "The very idea of someone taking my name... Of them _stealing_ it? You've been there, in the past, when that happened. You hadn't kent, with wights like ourselves, that was not the problem it seemed? Jack Frost is _Jack Frost_. That is _his_ name. He didn't steal it; it was gifted to the little bastard. If he had stolen it, I may have reacted differently. Perhaps." 

Pitch sniffed, turning back into Jökul's cold palm. As much as the other spirit's words occasionally pissed him off, he couldn't deny what Jökul said. Instead, he would bring up another point of contention. "So why is he still on the list?" He watched Jökul's reaction through slitted eyes. 

"List?" asked the spirit dumbly. Smiling lips drew into a confused pout as Jökul pondered Pitch's nearly off-topic accusation. "List? Oh! You mean the ban, right? He isn't, as of yesterday. Also, what has that to do with the lad's name?" He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "I doubt it matters... And it's beside the point. I am also here on other business. You have to come to the gala. They'll be holding one for him and there are _things_ I ought speak of and I would really much rather that all of those involved be in the same room so that I don't have to repeat myself overmuch." 

"You want me to come to... Jack Frost's post-ban party?" Pitch asked distastefully. "No, I think not." The look on Jökul's face was pretty much priceless. 

"Whyever not?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence (a look that hadn't worked on Pitch since the ice age - the big one, with the furry elephants and the angry cat things, and that horrible, horrible snakelike creature that he would really rather forget). "Not that it really will matter," he said thoughtfully. "After all, you're coming whether you want it or no." With a toothy grin that would have had those insipid little fairies swooning, he leaned in until he and Pitch were nose to nose. If Jökul leaned an inch or so further, their lips would be touching. His voice dropped to a husky croon. "You can say 'no' all you like, but you're coming. It's important enough that I'll drag you, should it become necessary." He moved down just enough that their lips barely brushed together and then stood, quickly stepping away. 

And Pitch realized, suddenly, the significance of Jökul's odd speech patterns. It had been longer, for Jökul, since he had last actually spoken to anyone but himself and his sheep. Yet, Pitch thought, the winter wight came by it naturally. He wasn't gregarious by nature, except when he was, and those times often looked like an exercise in masochism. Jökul had shied away from touch (unless he was the one initiating it) for the entire time Pitch had known him. He was just as likely to disappear for years, decades at a time, than to actually go to any of the Winter Court's many yearly parties. Pitch would wondered if, perhaps, Jökul had been left alone for too long when he was young, or newly formed (or whatever it was that Jökul had been - for all that Pitch had been there, he never quite understood what had happened), which brought something else to mind. After all, as much as he detested (felt kinship with, even) Jack Frost, he pitied the boy for his enforced solitude. "Why three hundred years, Jökul? The last one you made wait that long went insane." 

"He's powerful," said Jökul, already turning to leave. "Too powerful to bring into the court quickly." He shrugged as he paused, cocking his head at Pitch, humming softly for a moment. "You ken why the ban works as it does. Why are you asking?" 

"If you had been banned," he asked, knowing full well that Jökul was far older than the ban list, and therefore had never been on it, "how long would it have been?" 

A faint smirk. "Three centuries, give or take. Gala's in..." he pulled out what looked suspiciously like a smartphone, "about two weeks. Warning you now, don't be late." And then he was gone, ice crystals dancing in the air in his wake. 

Pitch wanted to be able to say that he hated Jökul Frosti. In actuality, his feelings were much more complicated. So much more complicated. He would also like to say that he hated Jack Frost. Again, his feelings were more complicated than that. It was possible that his greatest reason for detesting Jack Frost was that he _wasn't_ Jökul. 

* * *

There was little that Jökul Frosti loved more than traveling from place to place. Second to that, he loved stirring up trouble - that was something that came from his very core, making it a desire that was nearly impossible to ignore. There were times that he was subtle, such as freezing pencils to a desk or stripping the screws holding a pair of glasses together (and watching the glasses suddenly fall apart, much to the bewilderment of the wearer). Other times, he was more overt, blowing papers out of the hands of young college students late for class, frosting the likeness of leering faces onto windows to freak people out, opening cattle gates to give bored ranchers something to do, spooking deer into charging at amateurs wielding cameras a little too close to the fauna... You name it, he's probably done it. Small, localized blizzards in the tropics (while difficult, that had been fun). 

Mostly, he just liked having fun. Traveling, playing with the wind, that was one thing that was guaranteed to boost his mood. That didn't mean that he didn't work, however. He had a job. He had several, in fact. At the moment, his job was to head to the North Pole, get himself some hot apple cider, and talk to Jack Frost. Rather, he was meant to invite Jack Frost to a party, and explain a few things to him. The Winter Court had been waiting for him for a long time. 

That wasn't to say that he had to go directly to the North Pole. He had nearly two weeks to get there! There was plenty of time to distract himself at the expense of humans in the meantime.

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in what's going on? Come see what's next at [my blog](http://www.asknotbug.tumblr.com). My ask box is always open, and I'm happy to receive anons.


End file.
